


When Ghosts Speak

by Hornswaggler



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2018-04-04 05:19:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4126744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hornswaggler/pseuds/Hornswaggler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone in the Shatterdome knew of Furisoa.<br/>Nobody really needed to know of Max.</p><p>In which Max would really love to be left alone to repair the Jaeger, and no one ever lets him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's three am so of course I started a Pacific Rim!Mad Max AU.

Everyone in the Shatterdome knew of Furiosa, even if almost no one knew whether or not that was her real name. She was famous in the way only Jaeger pilots could be, her name as well known as her Jaeger's deafening fog horn sounding in the Sydney harbor. Her co-pilot was just as famous, though her name was only whispered these days, the "poor Mary" who had still not regained the use of her legs and who still had the tendency to lose time and forget faces.

The battle that had lost Mary as a pilot and lost Furiosa her left arm was stuff of legend, but a legend that people seemed almost wary to speak of. The people in charge of such things claimed that the Drift technology had malfunctioned; Mary had suddenly received the entirety of the neural load, and Furiosa, no longer connected to the massive War Rig, had been unable to defend them against the attack that had caved in her side of the Jaeger and crushed her left arm between the mangled metal.

The Kaiju had been killed by another team and the rescue team had been somewhat surprised to find both women still alive in their Rig that had somehow stayed upright enough to keep them out of the water. Mary had been unconscious and Furiosa had likely wished she were.

Max knew of Furiosa. He also knew that she was stubborn enough to charge back into the fray as soon as the medical bay had deemed her healthy enough. She'd managed to catch the engineers right before they sent the Rig for scraps and demand it be repaired. No matter the fact that she was now missing an arm, no matter the fact that she didn't have a co-pilot, that damn Jaeger would be _fixed._

And so fixed it was. Max saw her almost daily as he worked through seemingly endless rivets or dangled from one of the massive arms to upgrade the hydraulics. She never said much to the engineers, never tried to correct them or interfere. She simply _watched_ , like a ghost hovering over the wreckage.

It was a little unnerving, if he was being perfectly honest.

It was even more unnerving when she somehow trapped him after one of his shifts, just as he was unhooking his harness and picking up his bag. Her left arm was in a sling still and he could just see the white bandage poking out the end.

"How's she doing?" The woman's voice was a little lighter than he'd expected - though come to think of it, he'd expected some kind of growl.

Max glanced up at the Jaeger automatically before giving a noncommittal shrug, doing his best to avoid eye contact.

"Well enough." He moved to step around her and was surprised when she mirrored him, blocking his exit.

"Any idea on how long?"

Another shrug. He hoisted his bag a little higher onto his shoulders, eyes flicking around the bay as if he might find someone who could distract her long enough for him to slip out.

"Few weeks," he told her shortly. "Month tops."

Furiosa nodded thoughtfully, staring up at the Rig with something that he might have called longing. "You're one of the head engineers, right?" She glanced back down in time to see Max give a sort of self-conscious shift of his shoulders. That got a quiet scoff. "What's your name?"

The question was unexpected and he spent a few seconds trying to figure out why she'd want to know. Maybe to report him to his boss for being unhelpful or something, maybe so she could find him again if she wanted updates...none of the options seemed like good ones, so Max tightened his grip on his bag and met her eyes for a brief moment.

"Does it matter?"

That seemed to catch her a little off guard and he used it to slip around her and stride for the opposite side of the bay. Furiosa didn't follow, and Max kept himself from looking back to see if she was still staring at her Jaeger, tried to keep himself from wondering what she was hoping to accomplish by getting the old thing fixed up again.

Maybe just to see it brought back to life in the hopes that Mary could manage the same. Maybe she was hoping to pilot again, even with the hinderance of having no co-pilot.

Either way. It wasn't his problem. He would fix the machine, and he would be out of the picture again.

Everyone knew of Furiosa. Nobody really needed to know of Max.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot, what plot? This AU makes me happy but I don’t really have any super exciting plot for it. Just…entertained by the characters, who are generally unhappy with each other for the moment.
> 
> Relevant research for this chapter resulted in finding out that Tom Hardy is 5’9” and Nicholas Hoult is 6’3”. I was overjoyed with this information.
> 
> There’ll be a perspective switch and at least one other familiar name in the next chapter. For now…here’s whatever this is.

If Max had his way, he'd be able to fly under the radar of everyone that wasn't directly involved in paying him. He wouldn't have to try to be friendly with the Rangers that came in, the brass, the occasional politician that would walk through with reporters...he would be able to avoid Furiosa when she somehow tracked him down in the bay to get updates on the Jaeger's progress.

Not that he was thrilled about anyone actively seeking him out. In the entire program, the engineers were supposedly one of the most overlooked - next to the people running maintenance on the base itself - and that was just fine by him. He'd get his orders, get the supplies, and set to work repairing and maintaining the giant machines that lined the bay walls. The War Rig currently had the biggest team at work; no other Jaegers had come in recently in need of much reconstruction, and the Rig had an entire left side to rebuild. The rest of the crew knew he wasn't one for small talk, though, and they were nice enough to not bother trying.

Max knew of practically everyone who came in and out of the bay, even if he didn't know more than eight or nine names. It was fairly obvious, then, when a kid wandered in with the air of having no idea where he was going. Max felt it was just an impressive stroke of bad luck that he happened to be on the floor at the time rather than up on the Rig's shoulder as he had been all morning.

It was more bad luck when the kid's eyes centered on him just as he was turning away with the bag of new welding rods over one shoulder.

"Hey, you work here?"

Max paused, let himself take a moment to gather some scraps of patience, and then turned. He was a little taken aback when he had to look up a lot more than expected to meet surprisingly blue eyes. The kid hadn't seemed nearly that tall from a distance.

"The school tours meet at the south entrance," Max told him shortly, turning away again. He was disappointed but not entirely surprised when he was followed.

"Nah, I'm actually -- I'm looking for the barracks." That earned another slightly puzzled glance and Max marveled briefly at how pale this guy was, wondered just where he was from, that accent was difficult to place... The suddenly extended hand almost made him flinch back. "Name's Nux." The silence that stretched didn't seem to deter him, and Nux let his hand drop again after a few seconds, flashing a slightly lopsided grin. "Just finished the Academy. This place is bigger than I remember."

Max felt himself frowning and he looked Nux over quickly, his grip tightening on the bag he held. "Letting infants through these days," he muttered. "Great."

"Slit and me, we're gonna be on call within the week." The kid kept going as if Max were actually taking part in the conversation. His eyes were wide as he stared around the bay and his steps seemed to falter a little when Max stopped at a section of scaffolding and tossed his bag up to the first level. "That's...hell, that's the War Rig, ain't it?"

"Guess so."

"I hear the pilots are out of commission, what's it being repaired for?"

"Look, kid," Max turned enough to wave a vague hand up at the ruined side of the Jaeger, even as he kept his eyes focused on double-checking the welding machine’s power source, "this is what you've signed on for. You lot go out, nearly get killed, and we make the repairs so you can do it again next week.” Part of him realized that he hadn’t said this much out loud to one person in a while, let alone a stranger. But hell, there was a point to make. “You’re battle fodder.”

“Is that what we are?”

That wasn’t Nux’s voice and Max didn’t have to turn to recognize it. He had known Furiosa was around, as she always was these days, but hadn’t figured she was close enough to overhear. He let himself wait, pulling in a slow breath before looking over his shoulder. Nux had stepped back a little and was staring at Furiosa with something akin to awe. The woman wasn’t paying him any mind, slightly narrowed eyes locked on Max.

“Whole program is,” he muttered after a while. “That’s all they’re training the new ones for – replace the ones that manage to get killed.” _Don’t push it._

“So casualties in a war amount to nothing but battle fodder?”

“This kid is going out within the week.” Max finally turned, ignoring the quiet voice that told him he was definitely pushing it. “How long you think he’s got until one of them in that machine ends up like you? Or like Mary?”

That was _definitely_ pushing it. He didn’t need any quiet voice to tell him that, Furiosa’s fist swinging at his head said enough. Max managed to duck and that instinct followed through into a quick retaliation. He could tell that she still wasn’t used to being down an arm – he saw the left shoulder move as if trying to swing before the sling stopped it. Still, she was fast, dodging under his arm and shouldering him into the Rig’s leg.

“You don’t talk about her,” she growled, good arm pinning him against the hard metal. _Damn_ she was a lot stronger than expected, especially for being such a short time out of the infirmary. He shoved back and saw her falter a little when she seemed to expect more weight on the left side. There were a few shouts already, at least one from a guy above them on the scaffolds, and both of them ignored the sounds completely.

She was fast. Max would say he was decent at defending himself, but he hadn’t been the one to actually go through some kind of combat training. He was fairly certain he got a few hits to land, but it was him that ended up pinned again after a few quick circles around the massive leg.

Furisoa was inches away from his face, her eyes blazing. “You don’t talk about her,” she repeated, her arm digging a little harder into his collarbone, “and until you walk out there yourself, you know nothing about us.”

Max was caught off guard when the weight suddenly lifted from his chest. He hadn’t moved yet, and it took him a moment to realize that Nux had stepped in from the gathering crowd and pulled Furiosa away, looking only slightly terrified when she spun on him. When he didn’t prove to be an actual threat, she turned back to shoot one more venomous glare Max’s way. He met her eyes evenly, not entirely sure what his own expression was doing at this point, until she snorted and briskly adjusted the sling on her shoulder.

Furiosa didn't exactly storm away – apparently, despite the initial outburst, she was too calm and put-together to really storm - but her walk across the bay was quick and stiff. Max didn't watch her for long. He turned, resisting the urge to kick at a fallen bag and trying to ignore the stares from the small crowd that had gathered.

"Rockatansky!" The sharp voice made him flinch and Max hesitated before looking up. He wasn't too surprised to see the older woman stalking toward him, but it still wasn't a comfort. Though he wasn't positive Marshal Valkyrie was  _technically_ his boss, she was certainly the loudest voice amidst the chaos of the Shatterdome. The crowd dispersed very quickly once they sensed a slightly less entertaining confrontation and Max stood nearly alone under the hulking form of the War Rig, save for Nux who didn't seem sure where he was supposed to be now, as Valkyrie reached him. "What the  _hell_ was all that?"

"Disagreement," he grunted, avoiding her eyes by focusing on adjusting his elbow pads.

"Uh huh." Valkyrie crossed her arms, glancing back in the direction Furiosa had left. "And I suppose she started it?"

"If throwing the first punch counts as starting, yeah."

“It’s true, Marshal,” Nux piped up. “I mean he did sorta punch back, but…” He trailed off when Max shot a sharp glare over his shoulder and shifted a little nervously on the balls of his feet.

Valkyrie didn’t pay the kid much mind, considering Max a moment longer before her eyes lifted and she let out a heavy sigh. "Picking fights with Rangers now, of all people? What made you think that was a good idea?” He didn’t answer and after a few seconds the Marshal’s face fell a little. “She lost her mother in this thing," she said, her voice sharper as she jabbed a finger at the Rig above them, "and I'd say that deserves a little more respect from you."

 _Just run, just run --_  
_Why'd you let go, why'd you turn away?_

Max jerked his head in a very quick shake, feeling himself glaring when he looked back up at Valkyrie.

"We've all got dead people," he growled quietly. She didn’t stop him when he grabbed his harness off the scaffolding and turned away to start pulling it back on. "And hers aren't even dead.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still pretty much entirely character-oriented. I think I’ve got some idea for a basic plot-line (sorta) so that will likely start up after this one. But y’know. Writing is hard and stuff.
> 
> Because Furiosa deserves her side of things and yay another favorite character of mine.

Furiosa had been in the infirmary enough to last a lifetime lately. They’d wanted to keep her in the Sydney hospital longer, especially given the necessary amputation, but she had insisted on being transferred to the Shatterdome as soon as her mother was in good enough shape to do so. She knew the people there, knew the base like the back of her hand, and it felt like having a familiar area might help in the long run.

She was only required to come in every few days now, get the bandages changed and check to make sure the stitches were holding. Still, no one was surprised when the woman ended up there practically every day.

"We've got a few x-rays scheduled today," the nurse said as she opened the door the next afternoon. "Someone will be coming in within the hour."

Furiosa nodded a little absently, good arm folding across her chest as she stepped into the small room and claimed her usual chair beside the bed. It took the sound of the door closing again for Mary's eyes to focus completely, but they seemed clear enough when she looked over.

"Who pissed you off?" the woman asked in way of greeting, and Furiosa vaguely wondered if it was that obvious she'd been fighting or if it was just some co-pilot instinct. Hell, it might just be a motherly instinct.

"Some engineer." No real use in denying it, whatever the case may be. "Doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut." That might not be entirely true; the guy almost never said more than seven words together at a time, but apparently the rare times he did, it wasn't anything she liked.

“You know,” Mary pointed out, “not being on call usually means you  _avoid_  getting new injuries.”

Furiosa touched a bruise forming on her jaw and scoffed lightly. “When have I ever managed to do that, huh?”

Mary’s grin was tired as she rolled her eyes. “Suppose I’m to blame there anyway,” she noted. “You didn’t exactly get your father’s patience…” There was a bit of a mischievous smirk when she glanced over and added, “I assume you gave a good as you got?”

“More,” Furiosa said, managing a smile herself when Mary chuckled, “as usual.”

“That’s my girl.”

Silences were more common than real conversations these days. It wasn’t like they had talked too much beforehand anyway; she’d heard other pilots mention it, that the Drift made it largely unnecessary. Granted, now it was less because silent communication worked best and more because it was hard to find something that didn’t bring up the obvious facts Furiosa was still trying to avoid.

It was enough, the nurses had told her, just being there. She wasn’t sure she entirely believed that, but there wasn’t much else to do. They would sit in silence, sometimes for a few hours at a stretch. Mary would often sleep on and off through the whole thing, which was to be expected. Still under strict orders to take it easy for a few more weeks – something that was already being ignored – Furiosa didn’t exactly have any other appointments to make.

Still, it was hard to find something to say when seeing her mother in the infirmary bed or in a wheelchair on the better days just continued to remind her that they should both be dead. It didn't feel like it had been long at all since their last call; the fact that she ought to be getting the bandages off of her arm soon was a strange concept. It felt like it had been a week ago at most, especially with how vivid the memories still were.

Being disconnected from the Jaeger had meant that, technically, she was no longer receiving the pain signals as it was hit. Technically. She had certainly felt as the left side was crushed, and it was likely thanks to the way the Drift tended to linger that she knew exactly what kind of pain her mother had been experiencing before she blacked out. Neural overload wasn't something most pilots could survive. There was the legend of one man who had managed to finish the fight despite his co-pilot stroking, but even if that were true, it had yet to be repeated. There was a reason there were two pilots to a Jaeger; taking on the entire machine alone was too much for one person to handle, and taking it on while still in the middle of a fight they were losing wasn't something to walk away from.

Not that Mary had walked away. The doctors hadn't expressed any hope that she'd walk at all.

But they were both alive, and that was something. That was more than anyone had expected, more than she had ever begun to consider when it happened.

Furiosa grabbed the glass of water to hand to her mother a split second before the other woman began reaching for it, wondered briefly if she had noticed something subconsciously or if it were still somehow the Drift's lingering effects, and made sure to keep her hand close in case the grip faltered. She had seen enough of the bad days to spot when Mary's eyes seemed to cloud over slightly as she looked around again, but a few hard blinks seemed to clear them again.

“Might not get in fights with engineers if you weren’t hovering around the bay constantly.” She was right about that, technically, but Furiosa just gave a small shrug. “You already fought the brass to get the Rig fixed. They won’t stop if you leave the room for an hour.”

Furiosa scoffed again, gesturing vaguely at the room. “What do you think I’m doing here?”

She could see the change coming before it really hit – the same clouded look, the slight grimace and Mary’s eyes narrowing a little as if she were trying to get them to focus. Sometimes they went an entire visit without this happening. Sometimes they went an entire visit without any real clarity. She liked to think she was prepared for it now.

The look of confusion still felt like a hit to the chest when it flicked between her face and the sling because she knew precisely what question was coming next.

"Furiosa what --" The water glass spilled a little when it was set back down unsteadily. "What happened to your arm?"

She'd had a lot of practice faking a smile these days, but it still wasn't too convincing. Furiosa reached for the woman’s hand, giving it a brief squeeze.

“It’s fine, mom.” It was easier these days to just try for reassuring instead of going through the whole ordeal of explaining again. The memory would come back sooner or later, and it didn’t feel beneficial to either of them to go over exactly why she was missing a good third of her left arm. “I’m okay.”

“That’s not _okay_ , that’s…” Mary’s voice was a little hoarse as she shook her head. “That’s not okay.”

They both looked around when the door opened and Furiosa could see the nurse do a very quick assessment before smiling and striding in. Most of the usual “Hi I’m your nurse” speech was drowned out – she’d heard it a thousand times by now – and Furiosa stood, leaning over to press a quick kiss to the top of Mary’s head.

“I’ll be back in later,” she said quietly. “Be nice to the doctors.”

The nurse was getting a wheelchair set up when she slipped out, and once the door shut behind her Furiosa let the smile drop again, pausing to pull in a slow breath. _It wasn’t a lie. You’re okay._

“Already due for a check?” She glanced around, not surprised to see the shock of red hair coming down the hallway. Capable had some secret talent of pinning her down – not that it was too much to complain about, but it did get a little unsettling sometimes.

“Day after tomorrow, technically,” Furiosa said. Capable gave her a quick once-over and shook her head briskly.

“Today. C’mon, I’m free anyway.”

There weren’t many other options but to follow her into one of the empty exam rooms and tug the sling off. It was useful having a nurse for a friend, but it did result in a good number more check-ups than she’d usually get. Capable was quiet initially, unwrapping the bandage with practiced ease. The stitches were holding, though Furiosa tried not to watch the process too long. It was still disorienting to see the arm abruptly stop just below the elbow, and she figured she’d see it enough later anyway.

“Heard you got in a fight with some engineer,” Capable said as she started rewrapping a fresh bandage. “Surprised I didn’t see him come in here.”

Hell, gossip around this place spread faster than it would in high school. Furiosa rolled her eyes briefly. “Didn’t last long. Some kid got in the way.”

“You let someone get in the way? That’s a little tough to believe.”

“He was new, not supposed to scare off the new pilots.”

Capable laughed, fastening the bandage and leaning back in her chair. “Right, one of Chrome Fury’s boys?”

“Probably,” Furiosa said with a shrug. “I don’t know what they look like, they just shipped in.”

“We had them in for physicals,” Capable said. “Basic routine stuff. The young one, Nux, he’s a sweet kid. Partner’s a bit of an ass, but…” She shrugged too, shooting a quick glance at the door. “If all goes well I won’t have to deal with either of them much anyway.”

“Most of us tend to avoid ending up in here if we can help it. No offense.”

“None taken; it’d be ideal to never see a single one of you.”

Furiosa realized she was smiling a little and marveled at the fact that Capable always seemed to be able to do that. She was never pushy about it, but there was something inherently calming about the young woman that seemed to work on every single person she sat with for more than a minute. That was not a skill Furiosa had ever understood, but it was helpful even when it didn’t seem like it should be.

“I should probably…” Furiosa pushed herself to her feet again, slipping the sling back around her neck but leaving her arm hanging. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Going back to the bay?” That got a sharper look than intended, and Capable simply raised an eyebrow. “You’re either in here or you’re watching that Jaeger. It’s not going to go any faster if you supervise every rivet.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” The red-head stood as well, arms folding as she seemed to size her friend up. “Why are you fixing the Rig, Furiosa?”

That got a pause. It wasn’t that she didn’t know the answer to the question, but it certainly wasn’t one she had planned on saying out loud any time soon. “Are you asking as my doctor?”

“I’d say more as your friend.”

Another silence stretched, this one more tense than she was comfortable with. After a while the woman let out a quick breath, her eyes lingering for a few moments on the stump wrapped in white gauze.

“I can’t lose it too.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I promise that they’ll start actually interacting more after this one, really. This thing keeps dragging out longer than I expected but I need to set up logistics of why things work out the way they do.
> 
> So uh...yeah, still not a ton happens but it’s setup, I promise.

Max continued to see Furiosa almost daily. Her schedule wasn’t consistent, but she’d always end up in the bay eventually, wandering the edge of the War Rig’s repair area. She hadn’t crossed over the yellow safety line on the floor since confronting him – a little odd since, as a pilot, she was one of the few allowed to do so.

He noticed the first day she didn’t have the sling, though she still had the tendency to keep the bad arm against her chest, as if keeping it out of the way. He noticed when the bandage came off, the stark white gauze replaced by pale skin and scar tissue.

Max told himself he noticed her so easily because she had taken a good swing at his face. And hell, the woman was an intimidating presence even when she wasn’t attacking him.

He’d also noticed Nux around a lot, but that was more expected since they’d gotten the Chrome Fury officially shipped in and set up on the opposite side of the bay. It certainly lived up to its name, a Mark 3 with upgraded artillery and so far unblemished by the usual dents and scrapes that came in battle. Max had seen the kid’s co-pilot, if only from a distance, and once again wondered at the whole ‘drift compatible’ thing. Even without speaking to Slit it was easy to see that he was drastically different from Nux, far more arrogant and abrasive.

Not that it was any of his business. He fixed the Jaegers; that didn’t mean he had to know about the people inside them. The Rig was much closer to being finished anyway – a few weeks, just like he’d told her – and as he checked over the shocks on the left leg for the third time some part of him wondered which machine was next to be destroyed.

Max let himself sit back on the scaffolding, one hand absently rubbing his left knee just above the metal strip of the brace. The injury there was old now and these days never really hurt enough to hinder him. Instead of the sharp spikes of pain that he’d dealt with when the doctor first set him with the brace, it was just an occasional dull ache that sometimes got a little worse in the wrong weather.

He probably didn’t even need to wear the thing anymore. It was just habit to strap it on each morning. Another reminder of things he had no trouble remembering in the first place.

_Where are you, Max?_

The realization that his vacant gaze across the bay was being met made the man jerk his head, the usual quick movement meant to dislodge the voices and the uncertainty. When he looked back the eyes were gone, and he wasn’t sure whether they had been there in the first place or not.

_Where are you?_

He stood abruptly, ignoring the way the scaffold swayed. The sharp buzz of a welding rod being struck somewhere above him made Max start and he cursed under his breath, scrubbing his face with one hand. Work usually kept him distracted enough, but there had been more reminders than he was used to lately. It wasn’t a surprise anymore; his ghosts were always there, lurking at the edge of his consciousness. Sometimes they just spoke louder than he expected.

Max swung down to the lower level of the scaffold and from there to the bay floor. He scratched at his knee again, telling himself the quick pace around the perimeter of the Rig was to stretch out his legs, nothing more. It was easy to get stiff constantly working in harnesses. Easy to get distracted.

He wasn’t surprised to pass by Furiosa; she was here more often than not. It was, however, surprising to see her speaking with someone else.

“…look at other options,” the other woman was saying, and Max paused by a pile of scrap metal, keeping his back turned. “The Marshal wants to start looking at potential pilot teams by the end of the month.”

“Pilot teams?” Furiosa’s voice was controlled, but just barely. “There’s a team already, Toast, you know that.”

“That’s not…” Toast sighed, and when she next spoke it was marginally louder and it took a moment to realize that she had turned to face him. “You got progress reports on the Rig?”

 _Shouldn’t have stopped, Max…_ This was precisely why he stayed in the harness; every time he stepped on the floor these days someone managed to corner him. He didn’t look around right away, just nodding once as he stepped around the scrap to grab a clipboard that hung on one of the scaffolds. Max handed it over silently, eyes still averted.

He could feel Furiosa watching him for a few seconds and wondered if it was a glare. They hadn’t been near each other since that fight, and those weren’t exactly good terms to part on. Toast’s flipping through pages seemed to draw her gaze, though, and Max made himself relax, arms crossing over his chest. He did need to get the clipboard back, and hell, he was curious.

“These are the figures for the supplies,” Toast said, holding out the clipboard. “ _Just_ the supplies. From the past month.”

“The entire program is expensive as hell,” Furiosa pointed out. “They knew that when they started.”

“They also know when to count losses, and the Rig was a loss. The only reason the PPDC agreed to rebuild it was because we promised it would see combat again.”

“And it will. I’ll be ready by the time it’s finished.”

The resigned sigh made Max chance looking up. Toast was meeting Furiosa’s eyes evenly – an impressive feat – and seemed determined to hold her ground.

“You lost a hand, Furiosa.” That made the glare harden and Max saw her left shoulder shift. “And even if Mary could walk, getting back in that Jaeger would kill her. You know that.”

“I can pilot,” Furiosa growled. “Get me a drive suit and I’ll prove it.”

“You lost a _hand_ –”

“Then put me on the right, it won’t matter.”

_Turn right, turn right – ___

“It’s not that simple. Dammit, you survived that call, isn’t that enough?”

_Where’d you go?_

“No, it’s not.”

“A prosthetic would help.” Max wasn’t even fully aware he’d spoken out loud until both women suddenly looked at him. He barely kept from flinching back, eyes dropping to the ground again. “Have something to…” One hand gave a small and vague gesture, “something to connect to.”

It had at least stalled the argument, but he wasn’t sure that was worth the curious stares. Toast glanced quickly at Furiosa and raised an eyebrow.

“You know each other?”

Furiosa wasn’t exactly glaring anymore. Her expression was hard to read, and she seemed to be considering her response carefully.

“This is the fool I punched,” she said.

Toast gave him a curious look and Max settled for a shrug. Not like it was a lie or anything. Apparently the whole damn base knew about that fight anyway. She turned back to Furiosa again, handing Max’s clipboard back to him without looking.

“Take it up with the Marshal,” she told the other woman. “It’s not my call, but they want the Rig piloted, no matter who’s in the cockpit. If you can work something out…” Toast shook her head and shrugged one shoulder. “If you do, you need a copilot.”

She strode away without another word. For a moment Furiosa seemed hesitant, as if she was trying to find something to say. It didn’t last long, though, and she too turned away. Max glanced up in time to see her moving her left arm a few times as if testing its range of motion.

Maybe the suggestion would dull some animosity. That seemed like a good strategy – he wasn’t a fan of having people actively wanting to punch him in the face.

Not like it was his business.

_Where are you, Max?_

He gave his head a quick jerk and turned back to the Jaeger, hooking the clipboard back on the scaffold before heading back to his current work.

_Where are you?_

Hell knew he needed the distraction.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual with my fics, I've hit the 'ridiculously slow update' phase. I apologize in advance for that, but I do have a chapter of another story to wrap up that's been waiting a long time. BUT I do have this one! And look, things are starting to happen!
> 
> My lovely sister is responsible for the beta work on this chapter and likely any following. She's very good at finding all of the unnecessary adjectives that I am notorious for and being rid of them.
> 
> Hope you like it!

"Of _course_ it'd be you."

Max jumped at Furiosa's voice, his arm raised to strike when he turned. The punching bag he'd been working swung back into his shoulder and made him stumble before regaining his balance. He considered himself a difficult person to sneak up on, but Furiosa moved quietly and he hadn't been expecting anyone else to come into the gym at this hour; his insomnia-induced workouts were almost always solitary ones.

The first thing he noticed was her arm - her _new_ arm. It looked like the rudimentary start of some bigger project; she had a few leather straps holding some pieces of metal to where her forearm ended. Furiosa shrugged the whole thing off and set it on one of the benches lining the walls before he had a chance to see much detail. He didn't think too much about the fact that she had apparently followed through with his suggestion.

Instead, he replied with a short grunt, turned back to the bag, and got in a few more hits before realizing the woman hadn't looked away yet. Max tried to ignore it, but his swings faltered. That seemed to give Furiosa an acceptable opening to step around the punching bag and consider him curiously.

"You ever go home, fool?" she asked.

Max let the bag swing, catching it when it came back toward him. He hadn't been expecting that sort of question - Furiosa didn't seem like the type for small talk, especially not with him. He shook his head once, lifting a hand to gesture vaguely around the room. "I live here."

"What, in the gym?"

"Barracks. They...had an empty spot." He put another couple hits into the bag in rapid succession before adding, "Cheaper for everyone."

"No family in Sydney?"

_Why'd you leave?  
You could've helped us, Max._

It was his breath that faltered this time, and Max stared down at the floor until it returned to normal. He tried to get his expression blank before he looked up again, using his answer as an excuse to give a jerky shake of his head.

"No."

It felt like surrendering to leave now that it was obvious Furiosa wasn't about to. He wasn't fond of the way she was watching him, like he was a puzzle she wanted to figure out. It wasn't like he had a reputation to keep up, so he stepped back and started unwrapping one hand, turning toward the door.

"All yours," Max said, but he hadn't gone more than three steps before she spoke up again.

"You fight?" When he looked back, Furiosa held up a staff he hadn't noticed her grab. "Not my first choice, but you're here."

"I haven't..." He paused, jaw clenching as he tried to get words to come out properly. "Haven't been trained."

"And I'm down a hand." She tossed the staff at him and Max caught it instinctively, dropping one strip of cloth in the process. "Anyway, we got interrupted last time."

 _Hell, she wants to finish the job._ He stared at the woman, eyes narrowed. She had picked up the other staff and was spinning it casually, looking like she was perfectly willing to wait as long as necessary. Max got the odd feeling that she might actually try to follow him if he walked out, but when he took a step toward her he saw something in her eyes, some deep-seated weariness, that he recognized.

Something he understood.

So he relented, hefting the staff in his hands and turning it over a few times as he came back to stand in front of her again. As he glanced Furiosa over there was a part of him that thought that he might need to dial things back a little, take into account the fact that she _was_ down a hand and still not too long out of the infirmary. Then he remembered her just the past week, one arm still in a sling and the other a few inches from cutting off his windpipe, and Max firmly told that other part of him to shut up.

Furiosa advanced first, which didn't surprise him. Her strike was slow, easy to block, and Max got the feeling she was taking the time to get a sense of his skill this time around. It was an improvement over the last time, at least, where he had been pretty sure she just wanted to knock some teeth out.

They picked up speed quickly. Max found it curious that the movements came naturally, but challenged him at the same time. Furiosa was still learning how to work with her new handicap, but his only experience with this style of fighting was what few matches between Rangers he had watched. He could tell which way she would move most of the time, but it was still an effort to move fast enough to counter her.

The wood cracking together echoed far more than it usually did when the gym was full, reminding him a little of distant gunfire. It was near-constant motion, dodging, parrying, swinging again, and Max knew he was doing it wrong - even the very little he'd seen of seasoned fighters was enough to make that obvious - but he did manage to jump back up every time Furiosa knocked him down. She didn't seem too concerned about proper form anyway. This wasn't about training, and she could hardly hold the staff correctly when the other hand was gone.

Not that it was hindering her much. Furiosa was fast - much faster than he was - and she used that to her advantage the way Max used size to his. Any time he thought he'd knocked her down, she'd be moving again a split second later, either rolling out of striking distance and back onto her feet or going for his legs before he could react properly.

It didn't take long for all aspects of the proper fighting style to vanish entirely and dissolve into the kind of fights Max was more used to. They weren't throwing punches, and the staffs were still being used as occasional leverage, but it was more grappling than the graceful sparring that usually took place in this gym. Once again, her training outweighed anything he had and Max took most of the hits - some to the chest, at least one on his jaw that would definitely bruise, and her staff snapped against his arms more times than he cared to count. They weren't full force, but she was definitely letting them land and he knew he would regret every part of this in the morning.

Her stamina surprised him. Furiosa looked like she was still moving by sheer stubbornness, and Max was the first to noticeably stumble. He was on his back within the next second, the air knocked out of his lungs and a knee pressed into his chest.

"Why can't you sleep?" she asked him.

The question was definitely unexpected. Max met the woman's eyes while he tried to get his breath back, long enough this time to notice that she had darker gold flecks mixed in with the blue. He could tell, somehow, that they both already knew the answer, and he wasn't eager to say as much out loud.

Instead Max twisted suddenly, throwing all his weight to one side and Furiosa with it. She hit the floor with a grunt and her second of surprise was enough for him to roll and hold the end of his staff to her chest.

"Why can't you?" he returned.

Max realized they both knew the answer to that, too; he knew the kind of weariness that came from jerking awake for however many reasons, laying in the dark for hours at a time with the dim hope that sleep might come again, and pacing the floor when it never did. He knew, somehow, that neither of them were currently awake because they wanted to be.

Neither of them would say as much, but he could tell that they both knew.

It didn't feel like a win; Furiosa could have easily taken back the upper hand and thoroughly kicked his ass all over again if she chose to. Max felt perfectly ready to call it a draw, though, and stood, taking a few steps back and setting the staff down against the nearest wall. The ease with which Furiosa pushed herself to her feet told him that it probably wasn't even a draw, and she had just let him take the last hit. He didn't consider that a problem.

"Work tomorrow," Max said, even though he didn't think an excuse was really needed. Furiosa hesitated before nodding, shooting a quick look up at the clock. He didn't bother - it was always an unnatural hour when he came in here.

"Any estimate on the Rig?" she asked, and Max glanced toward the general direction of the bay. He shifted his shoulders in what was close enough to a shrug.

"Should be finalizing things by the end of the week." Whatever had been going on in that fight, whatever weird sort of understanding that had been, had vanished abruptly. Probably for the best. He grabbed the wrap that had been on his hand from the floor and focused on folding it when adding, "Better find a co-pilot."

Furiosa didn't hit him for that, at least. She seemed to be considering the room around them instead and simply grunted, striding past him to the bench by the door.

Max chanced looking over then, eyeing the small pile of scrap that she picked up, trying to get some idea of what she was looking to build with it. She didn't bother putting it back on when she moved to the door, and Furiosa left as fast as she'd appeared with a quick, "See you around, fool," tossed over her shoulder.

Max still wasn't entirely sure what had just happened. The upside was that Furiosa didn't seem about to murder him in his sleep for what he'd said earlier. The downside was that he had no idea what she was about to do now; at least when she was pissed at him it was easy to understand.

 _This is why you avoid people._ He let out a quick huff of breath that might have once been a laugh, stuffing the cloth into his pockets as he moved to shut the lights in the gym off.

It was only when he was halfway back to his room that Max thought again of Furiosa's in-progress arm. If she ended up returning to the gym at strange hours of the night like he did, it was a distinct possibility that he might be expected to fight her again.

And hell, the woman had kicked his ass with one arm. He didn't like to think what she could manage with two.

###### 

He couldn't think of the last time he had actually sought someone out by himself when a paycheck wasn't involved. Max was pretty sure he was sorely out of practice with it, and the problem with trying to talk to a pilot was the fact that they were rarely alone.

Nux was no exception to this. While he and Slit didn't seem connected at the hip the way some co-pilots were, Nux was social. If he wasn't with Slit, he was with someone else, and Max finally decided that he wasn't about to get spontaneously lucky. He signed off on a break, - something he probably hadn't done in years - bit the bullet, and crossed the bay, sidestepping the passing trucks and streams of people.

The kid was lounging on one of the Chrome Fury's feet, his partner leaning up against the base of the opposite one with some car magazine propped up on one knee. Neither of them looked up immediately, and Max took the opportunity to get a better look at Slit, who he'd still barely seen in passing until now. He was as pale as Nux and seemingly just as tall, though with a little more apparent muscle. The tattoos were probably the most prominent feature; there were jagged black slits stretching from both corners of his mouth, making Max wonder if he had chosen the design to match his name or vice versa. Both arms were covered in tattoos of varying age; some masked old scars, others were interrupted by newer ones. That combined with the smaller scars on his knuckles reinforced Max's initial impression that this was a guy who preferred to punch his way out of conflicts.

Nux noticed his approach suddenly and slid down to the floor. That made Slit glance up from his magazine quickly, but his attention returned to the pages after giving Max a very quick once-over. It was only now that Max was looking closely that he realized Nux had tattoos as well - lighter-colored ink patterned a skull-like grin across his mouth, and dozens of thin markings along his arms that resembled the circuits of the drive suits.

Rangers were always proud of their positions. This just seemed like overkill.

"You're that engineer, yeah?" Nux greeted, his hand reaching out in a second attempt of a shake. He still didn't seem disappointed when it was ignored, his grin wide as ever as his arm dropped again. "Guessing you're not here for the Fury, she hasn't moved since we got here."

Max shook his head, but after so long working with the machines his curiosity about a new one got him craning his neck to peer up toward the top. It was strange seeing a Jaeger that wasn't surrounded by cranes and welding torches. "Mark 3, right?"

" _Practically_ a Mark 4," Nux said proudly, his arms folding as he shot a glance at the Jaeger. "Should see the guns she's got, top of the line. They put a _flamethrower_ on, didn't they, Slit?" The last bit was called over one shoulder and Slit shot a scornful look over his magazine.

"Yeah, and there's a reason they put it on my side," he said gruffly. "You'd burn us to ash before the Kaiju even got there."

"Don't make any sense to me, dominant pilot should get the good guns..."

"Look, kid..." Max tried to tell himself that the faster he got this done, the faster he could leave. It was still a struggle to get the words out. "You did the...combat training?"

Nux nodded. "24 weeks in the Academy, 52 positions of Bushido, we got it all."

"That stick-fighting, too?"

"Hanbo? Definitely, guys in Kwoon love that one."

This was the hardest part. Max had a moment of internal struggle while part of him was insisting there were other options and the other part was pointing out that _other_ didn't necessarily mean _better_. He didn't know Nux well. He didn't know anyone on this base well. Nux was as good a choice as anyone else, and at least he seemed friendly.

So he tried to ignore all of his usual instincts that wanted to avoid every person here as much as possible, tried to ignore Slit watching them critically from where he was still sitting, tried to ignore the quiet whispers that were starting up in the back of his mind again...

"Think you can teach me?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so guess who has come back after not updating since the year of our Lord 2015.
> 
> I've been wanting to return to this for a long time, honestly, about half of this was written _since_ 2015, but it just fell by the wayside with other fics having priority. There was a lovely combination of new trailers for the sequel (!!!!) and this fic being nominated for an award (which still, happily, baffles me) that gave me enough drive to finally get this chapter done.
> 
> I'd apologize for the quality, since it's unedited, but tbh it's probably still better than my writing was all those years ago.
> 
> SO. No idea how well I'll stick to this thing. I do apologize for the vanishing. I promise, we'll get to the actual Drift compatible stuff soon. But I'M NOT DEAD!  
> If you want to see me actually active, I'm over on [Tumblr](http://johnandrasjaqobis.tumblr.com), too

There was an event the next day.

A Category 3 appeared on the sonar and looked to be determinedly heading toward an area just north of Sydney. Loccent deployed an older Mark 2, Initio Glory, to meet it, and Chrome Fury to hold the ten-mile mark in case backup was suddenly needed. None of the fights against kaiju were easy, but from the general air around the base, this one didn’t seem to be considered an extremely significant threat.

Still, it was an inconvenience. Furiosa found herself almost completely ignored when she stepped into the control room. That, in itself, wasn’t a problem, but it had been the Marshal who had called her for a meeting in the first place.   
  
"You asked me to come in,” Furiosa said after a minute. She wasn’t too surprised when that barely got a reaction.   
  
"Technically, yes." Valkyrie didn't take her eyes off of the screen that displayed the main sonar. "That was before we had to get two teams prepped and deployed at the last minute."   
  
"Marshal --"   
  
"It's on me, Jo Bassa, don't worry." She paused, doing a quick sweep of the readings, and then glanced over her shoulder at Furiosa. "I'll hear you out. Just let us make sure this bastard is dead first."   
  
Furiosa nodded briskly. She found her eyes drawn to the screens herself and tried for a few moments to decipher the scrolling numbers and blinking lights that covered the wall. She had only been in Loccent a few times before, and never during an active call; if there was an event she was involved in, she had been suiting up and either dropped into the fight or kept back on standby in case things went south for the primary team.   
  
The chatter, at least, was familiar, just sounding from the other side of the mics. The Chrome Fury team talked a lot more than Ace and Morsov ever did - or, at least, Nux did. That wasn't surprising; this was the Fury's first real call, and even staying back at the Miracle Mile was thrilling enough when everything was still so new.

It was an interesting contrast to have the newest pilot team sent out with the team that included one of the oldest Jaeger pilots in the program. No one was sure why Ace had decided to join at his age, but he wasn’t any less capable for it, and Furiosa had always gotten along well with him – he had a tendency to call her ‘boss’ that she had yet to break him of, but if that was the worst there wasn’t much to complain about. Morsov was a little over-dramatic, Ace was down-to-earth, and in this fight, like every other, they got the job done very effectively.

She didn’t pay much mind to the overlapping words being shot back and forth, keeping an eye on the small dot of light on the sonar that showed Initio Glory’s movements. The kaiju’s signature kept flickering and she wasn’t sure whether that was because it was getting weaker or because the machinery was acting up.

It was strange to realize just how much less chaotic things were on this side of things, but even just hearing Ace and Morsov on the speakers calling out movements was enough to have her itching to get back into a drive suit.

The urge faded immediately when the tinny sound of the kaiju roaring managed to make it across the comms. It was followed, unbidden, by the sudden and vivid memory of metal screeching as it collapsed in on itself, Toast’s voice sharp in her ear, the sudden blinding pain in her left arm…

“Kaiju signature down,” Toast called out suddenly her voice somehow rising above the rest just as the dot of light vanished, and Furiosa forcefully pulled herself back to the present. Her left hand throbbed a little despite the fact that it no longer existed. “I’m not picking up anything – Glory, how’s it look?”

_ “Well unless it can get back up with half a head,”  _ Ace said, sounding out of breath but satisfied,  _ “I think we’re good here.” _

There was a collective breath of relief across the room, and the consistent tension suddenly lifted as half of the crew sat back in their chairs.

Furiosa thought she heard a quiet hiss of “ _ Mediocre, _ ” from Fury’s comms, but no one paid it any mind.

“Nicely done, boys,” Valkyrie said, leaning over to flick a few switches that Furiosa couldn’t guess the purpose of. “Both of you, head back to base; we’ll start getting that hole patched up. Maddie,” she added, twisting around to one of the women at a computer behind her, “get the clean-up teams deployed. We’ll see how much we can sweep out before it all settles.”

It was surreal to realize that the entire fight hadn’t taken more than twenty minutes. Things always felt ten times longer in the Jaeger, in the midst of a brawl with a giant beast in the middle of the ocean. Here it was all condensed to numbers and lines of code, the sonar readings and comm connections being the only simple look into the fight itself. 

“Jo Bassa.” Furiosa forced her attention back to the room, looking over at Valkyrie as she came to stand by the door. She hadn’t even noticed the older woman stand. “Apparently you’ve been wanting to see me.”

“Technically you called me in, Marshal.”

That got the very start of a grin. “Because I knew you’ve been wanting to see me.” Valkyrie folded her arms, one hand waving vaguely before it settled. “Let’s hear it.”

It was obvious that Valkyrie already knew precisely what the argument was. Furiosa couldn’t tell if she’d made up her mind about the matter already and was just choosing to humor her or if this was legitimately the first time another option would be proposed. Either way, it didn’t seem like a good idea to waste it.

“You want the Rig piloted again,” Furiosa said plainly, and Valkyrie nodded. “Am I even a candidate at this point?”

The Marshal paused, her eyes doing a sweep of the room before she looked back at Furiosa, head tilting to one side. “You want to get back in.”

It was more of a statement than a question. Furiosa answered anyway.

“I do, ma’am.”

“I don’t suppose I need to remind you of your arm.”

“Believe it or not, people have mentioned that before.” It felt like a bit of a success when Valkyrie smirked, and Furiosa shot a glance down at her left arm, resisting the impulse to rub the scar tissue. “I’m working on something, a…prosthetic. With a bit of help I can get it to hook into the drive suit; it’ll be just as connected to the Rig as I am.”

“A prosthetic?” Valkyrie looked impressed. That seemed promising. “What gave you that idea?”

Furiosa hesitated, realizing she still didn’t actually know the man’s name, and decided that it wasn’t relevant at this point. “Someone suggested it. Still finishing things up, but it’ll work.”

“And you’re positive about that?” the Marshal asked. Furiosa’s hesitation seemed to answer that for her and she sighed lightly. “What about a co-pilot? Prosthetic or not, you can’t run that thing alone.”

Furiosa was aware that there was a group of people lingering nearby, trying not to be too obvious about listening. She pushed down the urge to tell them off for it and folded her arms as best she could, fixing the older woman with a look she hoped didn’t seem  _ too  _ exasperated.

“Well,” she said plainly, “I can’t exactly start looking for someone else unless I know we’re going to get a shot at it.”

Valkyrie hummed quietly, eyes narrowing as she considered that. The room was quiet – even the eavesdroppers had fallen silent and Toast was making no effort to hide the fact that she was watching the exchange from her desk.

“Fine.” Even after all the effort she had put into this, that one word was a surprise. “Fine, I will…I’ll pass it up the line. See what we can do. Hell knows we need all the pilots we can get.” Valkyrie paused and then let out a breath, arms falling to her sides. “Just be aware that if someone higher up vetoes any of this, it’s out of my hands. There are plenty of candidates in the Academy looking to get in a Jaeger.”

“I understand,” Furiosa said quickly. “I just want a chance.”

“Well, you’ll at least get that.” Valkyrie sounded almost weary as she did another sweeping look around the control room. “It’s been years since your last scans, you’ll need new ones.”

Furiosa nodded briskly. “I can do that.”

“ _ All _ of them.” That was accompanied by a sharp look. “All new physicals, neurological scans, psych profiles – new co-pilot means you’re starting fresh.”

Furiosa wasn’t a fan of psychological profiles. It was one thing to have Mary in her head, but having a stranger trying to poke around was never very enjoyable. They had made her do some therapy sessions after the Rig went down, probably just to make sure she wasn’t about to go on some violent spree through the base, and those had been the worst ones yet.

Still, the tests for the new Rangers weren’t quite as invasive; there had to be something to compare the other candidates to, something to match up, so they needed the bare bones of the personality. The rest came in the brain scans and simulation runs.

If it meant getting back in the Rig, a few questions from a shrink would be a small price.

Furiosa nodded, not entirely trusting herself to not say all of that out loud if she spoke. That seemed enough to satisfy the Marshal, and she seemed to nearly smile,

“Get the tests done,” she said as she turned back to the control room. “I should have a definite answer by the time you have the results.”

“Thank you, Marshal,” Furiosa called after her, not too surprised when it didn’t get a response. She caught Toast’s eye from across the room and returned the other woman’s somewhat-hopeful grin before turning out into the hallway.

It was a chance. She just needed to make it work.

Get the tests done. Get the arm to work. Get a co-pilot.

She’d faced off against 2,500 ton monsters from the abyss. She could handle three things.

* * *

“You’re trying to get back in a Jaeger,” Capable muttered an hour or so later, “and I can’t even get you to wear the damn compressive wrap.”

“It’s a pain in the ass to get on one-handed,” Furiosa defended immediately, “you know that.”

“That’s why you ask for  _ help _ .” Capable’s voice somehow managed to be stern and teasing at the same time. She had the end of Furiosa’s left arm in one hand, gently prodding the scar tissue. “I know that’s a pretty alien concept for you, but it is effective. Pull to the right.”

It was instinctive to try and keep any discomfort from showing, and it took a strange bit of concentration to let it show when the muscles protested their use. “It hasn’t been swelling, seems fine to me.”

“And which one of us is the nurse here?”

Furiosa scoffed and Capable seemed to be trying not to smile. She did look contemplative as she moved the arm in different directions, keeping a careful watch of Furiosa’s face in what was probably an attempt to judge pain levels. The routine was familiar, and though Furiosa wasn’t a huge fan of therapy of any sort, including physical, she would grudgingly admit that it was getting what was left of that arm stronger.

“Seems to be doing alright despite your stubbornness,” Capable noted after a few minutes, reaching behind her for the clipboard she was taking notes on. “You  _ will  _ have to use the compressive wrap before we start looking into prosthetics. Gotta make sure the fitting is right, and we can’t do that if there’s any swelling that might go down and mess it all up.”

“I’m actually…” Furiosa hesitated, realizing she hadn’t directly mentioned her current project to anyone but the Marshal yet. “I’m building one myself.” Capable looked up, eyebrows raised, and Furiosa shrugged once, hoping it didn’t look as self-conscious as it felt. “There’s plenty of scrap around here and they’d just throw it away anyway. I’m leaving the base adjustable, so it’ll fit regardless.”

Capable leaned back in her chair, her head tilting a little to one side. “They’ll pay for one you know,” she pointed out. “Pretty sure that’s covered in your contract. Why make it?”

“And maybe I’ll take them up on something eventually, but for now, I’m getting back in the Rig. I need that arm to work, so it’ll…” Furiosa gestured vaguely at the left arm before folding both of them across her chest as best as she could. “I want it to be as linked in as the rest of me. Not sure the insurance would cover that."

Capable hummed quietly, considering that for a moment before leaning over to grab the small bundle of fabric lying on the exam table. "You're still wearing the wrap," she said. "Doctor's orders."

It didn't seem worth the effort to argue that. Furiosa let her pull the thing on and rotated that arm a few times to make sure it would stay. It did cover the scar, at the very least. She could appreciate that much, if nothing else.

"So how do you plan on getting this prosthetic idea to work?" Capable asked as she finished scribbling something onto her clipboard. "You pilot Jaegers just fine, but that's some serious tech to figure out."

"I've got..." Furiosa paused, remembering the man who had suggested the idea in the first place, remembering how wary he was around her -- hell, around everyone -- and vaguely wondering if he'd even speak with her again. "I might have some help."

Capable seemed to accept that, flipping through a few pages before looking up again. "Well we can get your physical out of the way now, if you want. Probably schedule the scans at the very least."

It was good to have distractions for the next few days. Furiosa made sure to have the time to visit Mary, tried not to be discouraged by the lack of any real change either way, and focused on her appointments. The psychiatrists had to know that she was familiar with the tests already, but these weren’t the kind that prior knowledge helped with anyway.

Part of her was tempted to ask to see the results, curious if they had changed over the past few years. In the end, it seemed like a lot more effort than it was worth.

She needed the tests to compare against other pilots. She didn’t need to know what they said.

Considering everything that had happened since she’d tested for the Academy, she wasn’t sure she wanted to see what they said.

The arm took up the rest of her time. It was as ambitious of a project as Furiosa had expected, especially considering she only had the one hand to grip with, but it was good to have something to do other than hover around the Rig.

There wasn’t anything left to watch there, anyway; the engineer had been right, and the scaffolding was pulled back by the end of the week. It probably still needed work on the finer mechanical aspects, getting the Drift tech synced back in, but the exterior was solid again. After the new paint job, it looked all but new.

Very different from the pilots that had taken it out so many times.

She still didn’t sleep through the night often, but having the arm to work on kept her out of the gym most of the time.

If she was making something of an effort to avoid a meeting she knew was inevitable, Furiosa wasn’t about to acknowledge that.

But, unfortunately, the “inevitable” part of that came around sooner than she’d anticipated.

It was a little harder than it used to be to find the man. With the Rig fixed and only very minor repairs needed on Initio Glory, the engineers were mostly scattered to do maintenance on the base itself. 

Furiosa hadn’t expected to see him in the bay, right at the edge of the Chrome Fury’s zone, especially not talking to one of the pilots. Or, rather, being talked to by one of the pilots; the kid looked perfectly ready to carry on the conversation whether it was reciprocated or not.

She could see the moment the engineer spotted her. There was a flash of apprehension on his face -- probably warranted, all things considered -- but when she nodded toward the edge of the bay, he only hesitated a few seconds before muttering something to the kid and turning to follow her.

When they stopped in a relatively empty corner, he didn’t say anything. Furiosa hefted the small duffle bag she had onto a table and he still didn’t say anything. He did cross his arms over his chest, but not in a defiant way -- more like he was trying to fold into himself, look smaller, attract as little attention as physically possible.

A far cry from the man who had pinned her to the mat just a few days ago.

“How much do you know about the Drift tech?” Furiosa asked without preamble.

The engineer blinked hard once, and his eyes seemed to dart to a few points around her before settling on the floor.

He shrugged.

It took a good deal of self control not to sigh. Furiosa tugged the bag open and pulled out the prosthetic, laying it out on the table. She made sure to jerk her head toward it, in case his concentration on the concrete hadn’t let him notice.

“I need to make this hook up to the drive controls,” she said. He did at least look over then, and his arms seemed to loosen just a little. “Doesn’t need to be neurally linked outside of the Rig or anything, it can sit in the cockpit as far as I care, but I don’t know how those connections work.”

He blinked again, and then tentatively reached to pick the arm up, keeping half his attention on Furiosa like she might suddenly try punching him instead.

“I’d have to…” His jaw clenched for a second, brow furrowing. “Need some coding. Blueprints.”

Furiosa nodded. “Can you get them?”

A short grunt. She figured that meant yes.

She let him inspect her work silently, as he seemed to prefer. It took a minute to notice the bruises on his arms, and Furiosa stamped down the urge to ask about them. They looked too uniform to be from the job, too new to be from their sparring match, but she’d seen those kinds of marks many times after training.

Why the hell would he be doing Hanbo?

“I can find someone,” he finally said, putting the arm back down and looking very ready to leave. “Send them to you.”

Furiosa was shaking her head before he’d finished. “I want you.”

The engineer blinked hard. Frowned properly now. His raised eyebrow seemed a question enough, so she didn’t feel like she needed to make him ask it out loud.

“You know the Rig,” she told him. “I trust you’ll get things installed the right way and not make it short out all over again. Anyway, it  _ was  _ your idea.”

It looked like he’d never regretting having an idea more.

After a few moments of apparently heated internal debate, he gave a grunt that sounded a little like, “I’ll see,” before turning back toward the bay.

The thought occurred suddenly, and Furiosa turned on her heel to call after him;

“Hey!”

When he stopped, looking over one shoulder, she swung her good arm out in a question.

“What’s your name?”

He did meet her eyes for a moment with much less hesitation, that much was impressive.

She still wasn’t that surprised when he turned and kept walking without another word.


End file.
